


Impostors Advisory: Roots of N

by lostamongstars



Series: Impostors Advisory [1]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner, 終焉ノ栞プロジェクト | Shuuen no Shiori Project
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Doppelganger, Gen, Songfic, Urban Legends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostamongstars/pseuds/lostamongstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Certain death hangs on anyone who searches for the Book of Demise."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as Yet Another Page 250 Spin-Off. Inspired by a Vocaloid song of the same title. Mostly Japanese urban legends.
> 
> If it progresses into a series, I don't know. ((Maybe, seeing as Impostors Advisory is a part of ShuuenPro, but don't get your hopes up!))
> 
> \- - This is the prequel to Impostors Advisory, which kind of expanded, so yeah. Updates at random. - -

\- - - - - * - - - - - 

Prologue

\- - - - - * - - - - - 

Bloody Heaven wasn't all white. Nor was it empty of shuck-faced humans. 

Wondering where Alby and the other (dead) Gladers could be, the boy dragged his feet across the white expanse. For all he knew he could be in a white room, a small square enclosure like the bloody Box in reverse. The occasional jolt and bumps weren't there, though. And the whole place felt empty. No walls, just the ground beneath his feet. Somewhat humid draft of air coursed inside, ruffling his hair and bloodstained clothes at the slightest degree. 

So the idea of this place being the reversed Box was out of the question. Ridiculous. Ridiculous, ridiculous. He hit himself in the head, seemingly waking it a bit. 

Newt walked on. 

He felt like it was his starting day back in the shucking Maze again, and he fought down his utmost desire to punch the floor. It's not like it's going to help anyway. 

A rustle behind him. Newt turned just in time to see a paper float down before him. The paper passed his line of sight. Before him stood a white silhouette roughly the same height and build as him, his shadow a dissolving puddle of darkness. 

"Get it." 

The boy's eyes widened, but his hands followed. Almost as if he'd just lost control of his own arm, almost as if he was back to his Crank state. His anxiety grew on, evident by how his hands shook and his effort of hiding it as much as he could. 

They had the same voice. They had the same bloody voice. 

Newt settled on giving the silhouette a glare (although he had no idea how it would see him) before taking the flimsy material between his fingers, eyes already focused on it. 

"And who's this bloody shank who made me pick up a-" 

Do you want to live?

His eyes must have widened more. 

"What in bloody hell-" 

"It's exactly what it looks like." A thin line etched itself on the stranger's face, on the spot where a mouth should be. Newt realized it was a smile. A creepy one, for that matter. 

"Explain. Now." 

The silhouette held its head high, the creepy smile unwavering. "Smart boy like you, and you have no idea who I am nor why you are here?" When Newt merely crossed his arms and stared daggers, the silhouette grinned, his perfect teeth bared. "I am God." 

Newt's chest tightened, his hands and forehead beaded with cold sweat. With clenched fists Newt forced himself to remain calm. Let the rational part of him take over. 

"I am the world, the universe," the so-called God continued. "The truth. Also," he pointed a finger at the bloodstained boy, and slowly, the whiteness that surrounded him faded, starting from his fingers. Newt gasped as this "God"'s true appearance unfolded before him. 

He might've been looking at a mirror when the transformation was done. 

"I am you." 

To believe or not to believe, that is the question. 

"Bloody hell-" 

"Refrain from cussing here, please." God- Newt's lookalike, whichever- ran a hand through his own hair that looked like Newt's hair and inspected his form with his sharp eyes. Newt did the same. The red welts were nothing but patches of dried blood sticking on his unkempt blond hair. Dirt and grime seemed to coat his body- skin and tattered clothes. The boy wondered if he looked the same; at least he'd look less of a Crank but some human who got caught in an accident. 

"You are standing before me," the blue eyes scrutinized him warily. "One word and I'll make the Eye devour you." 

He spoke the word "eye" as if it was a bad thing. Something evil. Newt didn't want to know if that was true or not. "Good that." Newt swallowed. "Why am I here? Why do you look like me? And what is that note?" 

"Good questions." God/Newt's smile didn't falter one bit. "You are here for rebirth, a privilege given to a select few. All you have to do is to answer the question on that note." 

He already had an answer. But merely answering the question would get him nowhere. Newt needed more facts. More information, the better. "If I said 'yes', where would I be?" 

"In another world." God/Newt bared his teeth in a grin again. It was a peculiar sight, as if the boy had gone bloody psycho- which he hadn't. Yet. Well, almost, when he was near the Gone. "But to get this new life for real, you'll have to do something." 

Real Newt smirked. His expectations were spot on. "Name it." 

"Don't die within three years. And when you reach the new world- if you accept rebirth, that is-" Fake Newt hesitated. "Well, you'll know when you get there."

Don't die… Yeah. He could do that. Even when he wanted to die himself his own fate didn't agree. But the other one… "What was it? Can you just bloody tell me?" 

"Can't suppress the urge to let that sliver of a curse word, eh?" Fake Newt settled for a smile, "You'll know when you get there."

"Count me in." 

Fake Newt raised an eyebrow. "Is that a yes?" 

Newt was surprised with his answer. You're not thinking this over, his mind told him. But this was a new life. He wanted to forget the past- his hideous past filled with never-ending terror and ethereal happiness- and his last days as a vile being.

"Sign that paper with your answer." 

Just then, a ballpoint pen shimmered to existence at eye level. Newt grabbed it and dropped to the ground. Sitting cross-legged, he propped the paper over his right thigh, hoping he won't puncture the paper with the pen's point as he wrote his name. That didn't happen. 

"Done. I'm done, whoever you are." Newt stood up. "What do I do now?" 

Fake Newt showed that psycho grin again. Real Newt wanted to punch him for that. He had lesser time to react, however, thanks to the sudden appearance of a big, black marble door rising twenty feet from the ground, about seven feet wide. The door's surface were inscribed with words that didn't make any sense to Real Newt's head. The inscriptions were inside circles, forming some sort of grotesque hierarchy that led to one, big circle at the top. 

This couldn't be good. And Fake Newt looked elated, which reinforced the vague, bad thoughts swirling mad in the Real Newt's head. Fake Newt thrust his hand to the door, psycho grin unfaltering. The doors opened, revealing a dark expanse. Newt's eyes widened as an eye nearly as large as the door appeared dead center. Black hands emanated from the darkness and dragged him, like a black hole sucking a nearby star. He passed through Fake Newt like a ghost. Or was it the other way around? 

"Enjoy your new life, Newton." God's voice was no louder than a whisper. "And try not to die from this moment on." 

Newt was pulled into the darkness, right past the Eye. 

Images penetrated him, looking like flimsy ribbons that showed memories. His sister and their dog, smiling. Teachers giving him muted praises. His struggle as black-dressed men took him to an armored van, away from his only family. His last moments. Thomas pulled the trigger. Wailing. Screaming. All directed at his ears. The truth flooded in and out of his head, taking his very being as a price.

He screamed into the void, the light swallowing him whole.


	2. act one

Sunlight filtered through the blinds of the boy's room, thin streams of warm lights hitting his face. The boy had always used this as a signal, a sort of wake up call, to replace all the alarm clocks that wouldn't work. (Long story.) But today was different.

Newt didn't slept the whole night.

He watched the sunrise, saw how the stars receded as the big ball of hot gas made its way up from the horizon. During his first few weeks, which was roughly two years ago, Newt was terrified. What if the next day the sun flares would heighten their activity, swallow them whole? What if somewhere in this new world, a group of bloody scientists were already making The Flare, a population control device that can cause the extinction of the human race?

He didn't show it, of course. Still, if a very sensitive seismometer was attached next to him over his bed, it would probably record something. The trembling of his limbs, for example. Cold sweat caused by numerous nightmares made his pillows soaked, and he had to wash the pillow cases almost every morning.

Two months passed in a blur. The nightmares subsided. A few more weeks he found his ground to walk around. Started his work- a Seeker for the hidden King- which he knew from a notebook opened right over his face. He was already inside this apartment, too, all his bills paid by an estranged uncle-slash-billionaire.

He started to live like a normal person- someone without the Flare, someone who never got inside a shucking Maze and definitely not someone who only lived for the sake of a failing experiment.

This was Newt's new life. No, this  _is_  Newt's life today.

After this week, this life he'd seemingly "borrowed" from the hand of God will be his.

He threw himself over the bedsheets, eyes droopy, arms heavy like a sack of bricks. The boy buried his head on his pillow, obeying the will of his tired mind. Only a few minutes, a few minutes…

The phone on his nightstand rang once, a light, airy staccato that always calmed him.

Why now, he grumbled under his breath, drawling the two syllables in a daze. Now he knew why his bloody friends dubbed his jam as "the most annoying tunes ever to exist". It rang again. Then another. Newt hauled a pillow over his head, covering his ears with the ends, trying to block the noise.

_Make it stop, make it stop…_

And it did. Five minutes have passed when his phone beeped. A text. He let a few more minutes to pass again. Even when his body and mind agreed on sleeping, Newt's right hand shot up. Texts had way more effect on him than calls, for some dubious reasons.

After groping the nightstand for his smartphone, he forced his eyes open and held said phone over his face. Squinted at the screen.

         **Al**

         **Hey, wake up already, Newt. Stuff came up. Skytree, higher observation deck.**

The phone beeped again. He slid his thumb, the notification bar dropping. From there, he read the new message. Still from Alby.

**Don't even try pulling that shucking prank on me again, so get your butt over here.**

Newt almost howled in laughter at the memory. Good times, those.

He typed his response with one hand, and even with the air of drowsiness hanging around him, he got up from bed. Straight to the kitchen island he went, just a few steps from his room. He laid his phone on the marble top and searched the cupboards for his coffee jar.

His screen was still open, showing his reply.

         **Some bloody stuff, you say, shank? Give me thirty minutes.**

 

* * *

 

The Skytree looked bloody majestic even if Newt had seen it many times before.

The boy, dressed in fitting (and quite fashionable) hooded parka, white button-down shirt and faded jeans, wound his way past the platform, past the turnstile, nodding curtly at the locals who gave him some curious glances. That was a habit of young Chuck that gradually passed on to him. Who would've thought that a Slopper in the Maze would turn out to be a mean researcher in this era? Well, that made sense, however. Charles Darwin spent a lot of time in figuring this bloody theory of evolution of humans- one way or another Chuck's gotta have the same thing too.

To hell with the locals, though. Always so polite in broad daylight! Not that politeness was a bad thing, not at all, but most times Newt would always find himself biting his tongue, wishing that he had a stronger brain-to-mouth filter.

Once he bursted out into daylight, a tight feeling encased his chest, suffocating him at the slightest degree.

Must be the coffee. With that excuse in mind, he trudged forward, heading to the big looming structure sitting just a few meters away from the exit. At these moments, thoughts would usually occupy him as his feet did its only job. Before Newt knew it, he'd be a few steps from their regular meeting place, an out-of-the-way cafe lingering at the southern face of the observation deck.

This day was certainly perplexing, Newt could tell. He couldn't hold on to a single thought, much less ponder on his (or rather, their) current predicament- the search for the elusive Monkey's Paw.

_What have they found this time, huh?_

He made it to the entrance, paid the usual entrance fee, (which wasn't really him paying but showing the teller a certain card that only the employees knew) and immediately hopped in to one of the open elevators that almost closed before him. Good thing the operator had seen him running and kept the doors open. Once inside, the operator tipped his hat slightly to Newt, and the boy nodded back. To others it would look like a normal polite gesture, but that wasn't the case.

The Skytree belonged to the King. Everyone who works in it works for the King. But the Seekers- the King's personal treasure hunters- are on a higher scale than the regular workers. And Newt was a Seeker.

The elevator sped up. Another suffocating sensation in his chest filled him as they passed numerous floors, going higher in the air every second. It was almost the same feeling when he had a private audience with the King himself three years ago.  _Almost_.

_"The only thing you have to do," the King had said, "is to join your fellow friends and find certain items."_

_"What's in it for me?" He'd asked back then, curious._

_"You can demand anything from me. Whether it's good or bad, I don't care."_

Whether it's good or bad, Newt repeated the words in his head. He wondered if it could be done. The rational part of himself told him that it wouldn't happen in any way. The King wasn't God.

But, it wouldn't hurt to try and ask for his family's revival, right?

He's here. Alby. Chuck. Heck, he even heard that most Gladers who have been dead in that WICKED-infected universe are all here, somewhere in this world or maybe in another. Was it an impossible wish, really?

The doors opened. On the other side was a face he didn't really want to see first in this place. Before he could dwell on her clothing choices (which made her look like some witch from the Medieval Age) he got away from the elevator car, the locals following suit and going off to their own businesses.

The ebony-haired girl followed, her high heels making soft clicks on the floor.

"Hi, Newt. I'm sure you know me."

Of course I know you, you bloody shank, he spat inside his head. On the outside he merely nodded, not feeling the urge to talk. He sure was thrown in a bad mood in a millisecond. Bloody hell. Why was she here? Why not in Hell with her fellow shuck-faced WICKED fanatics?

But if Teresa was here, then she was already dead. That alone made him smile despite the resentment blooming inside him. At the very least, Tommy and the others who have survived had one less problem off their shoulders.

If his wish was impossible, he now knew what to ask for instead. After all, the King said he wouldn't care if it was a bad thing he'd wish for.

All that's left to do was to wait. Ah, bloody no, he chided himself. They must find the Monkey's Paw first. Without that, well, not even his simple wishes could even happen.

 

Alby and Chuck had already taken the seats at the back of the cafe when Newt and Teresa arrived, dressed in their own formal clothes- Alby in a simple white shirt and black cargo pants, Chuck wearing the school uniform of a nearby middle school- red long-sleeved polo and white pants. A couple glasses of frappe and three plates of macaroons sat at the middle of their round table, almost untouched. A cream-colored wall separated them from the common area. No one would see or hear them from the outside, unless they've got bugs installed on the walls.

"Take a seat." The dark-skinned leader nodded once at them. Newt immediately sat at the empty seat next to him, while Teresa settled on a seat beside Chuck, who shot a "SOS" look at the former Glade Keeper. The latter simply shook his head. The poor boy looked miserable, fidgeting with the bottom hem of his light blue shirt.

Teresa didn't seem to notice. What a bloody douche.

Newt was no stranger to that event. To ease himself, he grabbed a glass of frappe and sipped for a bit. "What was it that's so bloody important you have to disturb my sleeping cycle?"

Alby sighed sharply. "Ah, you know. We've found an answer to-" He caught himself just in time. How Newt didn't even pointed the anomaly in the first place he had no idea. "Oh. Um, sorry, Teresa. Can you leave for the meantime?" Then, "We'll check back on you when we're done."

Teresa's face a cross between disappointment and subtle defiance, but she folded, standing and leaving the table with one last nod. Chuck, being Chuck, gave her one of the frappe glass, the one on a to-go cup.

Nevertheless, the young boy let out a big sigh as soon as they heard the bells chime faintly at the distance. "Thank God she's not here."

Newt turned to Alby, then told him to bloody talk the subject already. The longer he was here the harder it was for him to stay bloody calm and polite.

Wow. That was him when he was a Crank. Some habits just don't bloody die, eh? Especially the awful ones.

"I have no idea why this shuck-faced God even sent her with us." The former Keeper pursed his lips. "That can't be helped." He sighed sharply. "Let's get this done, since you guys seem eager to leave."

A bitter laugh escaped from Newt's lips. "We are?"

"No," Chuck chimed in. "I don't think any of us had dates. I have prep course, though."

Every eye turned at Chuck. The boy seemed to want to shrink to ant size with all those gazes piercing at him. Even before he didn't like attention. He's more of a background person, or a middle man, whatever. He liked Thomas boy more; He'd seen him as a potential older brother. Well, if he'd just lived longer in the past that could've happened.

"Good luck, shank. You need that." Alby snatched one of the frappe glasses and took a large swig, his eyes closing in food euphoria. When he opened them he gave Newt a hard look. "I and Chuck had found a way to acquire the shucking Monkey's Paw."

Newt had been told that he had a way of creeping people out with grins. The biggest insult was him looking like a psycho. This was one of those times.

(It was good for Newt that Chuck and Alby didn't know that he was a Crank, and he was almost past the Gone, and yes, he did look like a cannibal psycho, which is definitely worst than the stereotype ones.)

With his psychotic grin on the loose with the beginnings of a hysterical laugh in tow, Alby knocked the wind out of Newt, patting his back harder than he should've. Like one of those times where someone chokes on their food and they need to get that piece of dislodged food out of the airways. The only difference was that Newt wasn't choking- not at all. The other boy almost spilled his frappe, if it wasn't for Chuck who took it steadfast from his grip.

"Slim it, shank!"

"Sorry, sorry." Newt fought for control inside him. Bloody yes. They're going to find the Monkey's Paw some time soon. That's just a great news he couldn't contain his own excitement.

"There's no helping you when you get shucking excited, are ya?" The Keeper settled back on his seat. "I doubt you'd still be in it when Chuck explains it."

The young boy swallowed, his eyes widening to the size of ping pong balls. His chair slid back a bit, the metal legs screeching against the floor. It definitely screamed anxiety there. "Why me?"

"You made the discovery, right?" Alby said this with a finger pointed at Chuck's face. "It's your shucking job to explain it fully, shank."

After staring down each other- well, Chuck did his best- the plump boy relented and gave the frappe glass back to Newt. The latter took a swig, waiting for Chuck to just get on with it.

"You know what it is, too. It's unfair..." A sigh of defeat escaped from the young boy. "Fine. I'll do it."

Silence. Newt could almost hear the blood pumping in his veins, making him jittery in his seat.

"Dude, what the hell-"

"I'm so sorry if it's taking me too long, Alby." Chuck shook his head, his eyes . Oh, great. The kid looked like he was going to run away any second. "It's just-"

"Just get on with it, shank." The voice of the former Keeper was softer, gentler, ill-fitted to the words.

"To find the Monkey's Paw," Chuck started, "we have to acquire the Book of Demise and its accompanying bookmark."

Newt took a deep breath and laid back on his seat. "That's bloody nice. A book of death."

"But the rumors say that it's not easy to get one of it, much less use it to get something else."

"How so?" Then, "Wait, rumors?"

The boy nodded, weak. "It shouldn't have surprised you, Newt."

The latter immediately threw his hands up in the air. He was so done relying on third-party and word of mouth sources, but it's not like he could merely share that thought of his, is it? "Well, I thought we'd somehow got real facts this time, not from all these rumors in the city."

"We live for the rumors, Newton." Alby's tone had a dangerous edge in it. No, he was being cautious, Newt thought. It just occurred to him how many mechanical eyes the size of a pebble could be watching them, relaying every movement and voice imprints to the King. "We devour rumors to find the impossible: an elusive item here, a lost-in-the-ancient-times item there. And we did, all because of these rumors. Look at how far we've come with the rumors you think as a bunch of klunk.

"And this will be the last item; the last time the King will ask for our service. After that we're free to do anything, to live like the buggin' humans out there. We'll finally get what we truly deserve."

The Keeper's words had a ring of truth to it. Why doubt now, Newton? the miser in his head said.

"You got me there," was all he said back. "Still-" 

"Shut up your geeky hole, Newt. You can have all the time you want in the laboratories all over the world after our hunt."

He huffed, feeling like a deflated balloon. "Good that."

The Keeper turned to Chuck and urged him to continue. The young boy, who probably took the time to rehearse his lines mentally, cleared his throat, his plump hands grasped the glass of frappe.

Newt steadied himself in his seat, ears open but his mind nearly closed to anything but uncertainty. 

* * *

 

_An hour later._

As much as Newt wanted to finish the whole bugging business of acquiring the Monkey's Paw, he and Alby had agreed to Chuck's words. They should prepare for this.

_Certain death hangs on everyone who tries to get the Bookmark of Demise._

Newt felt bloody inspired by those wonderful lines.

The former Keeper adjourned their meeting after dividing their tasks, reminding them for the millionth time to be careful everywhere, then Chuck just had to remind them about bloody Teresa as soon as they stood from their chairs.

 

But when they went out of the cafe, Teresa wasn't there. Alby tried calling her ("Wow. You really want to keep tabs on the bloody girl?" "Shut your hole, Newt.") but she didn't pick it up. Dismissing the whole Teresa issue with a noncommittal shrug, the trio went their own ways back home.


End file.
